


A Spectacle Grander Than The Sky

by pinkwithoutplot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 11:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8247832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkwithoutplot/pseuds/pinkwithoutplot
Summary: Death has returned Sam's soul, but now his little brother is whole again, Dean finds his motives for wanting it back so badly called into question...





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just my way of dealing with Hellatus...my hope for 6:12. Well, a girl can dream ;) You know the drill y'all: one-shot PWP with a BIG dose of epic, angsty love thrown in.

 

  
Summary: Death has returned Sam's soul, but now his little brother is whole again, Dean finds his motives for wanting it back so badly called into question...  
Categories: Sam/Dean > Season Six Characters:  Bobby Singer, Castiel, Jimmy Novak, John, Lisa Braeden  
Fun Genres:  None  
Genres:  Angst, Drama, First Time, Fluff, Hurt & Comfort, PWP, Romance  
Warnings:  None  
Challenges: None  
Series: None  
Chapters:  1 Completed: Yes  
Word count: 3303 Read: 1586  
Published: 12/30/2010 Updated: 12/30/2010

 

 

 

Dean watches through the slot in the panic room door as Death opens his briefcase and his sallow, gaunt face is bathed in an eerie light from within. Sam thrashes against the cuffs and Dean flinches as the metallic clang ricochets around the lead-lined walls and Sam pleads and hollers until his voice is torn.

Dean feels each ragged cry from his brother rip through him and it's visceral – like being knifed in the guts. Sam's eyes are burning into him. But still he makes no move to put a stop to the Horseman as he takes that glowing, white hot thing out of the case and thrusts it back inside Sam's struggling body. Bobby's fingers twitch where they are braced on his arm. The older man is breathing heavily.

“I'm not sure about this, boy."

Dean's heart slams against his ribs and he holds his breath as Sam screams his name over and over. He tries to avert his gaze but he can't – held fast by the scene on the bed, by the light infusing his little brother's huge body. Sam arches one final time as Death withdraws his pale fist and then everything goes quiet.

Death turns to Dean making the hunter shudder under his scrutiny.

“It is done.”

He returns his impassive stare to Sam's limp body. His voice is dry and brittle.

“Remember, Sam. Don't...scratch...the wall.”

And with that he is gone.

Dean sways a little before gently brushing off Bobby's touch and staggering forward into the panic room.

“Sam!”

He flings himself down on the bed next to his brother, unlocking the cuffs with clumsy fingers to release his brother's hands.

His own hands roam restlesssly over Sam's body, running up his chest, checking for damage, sliding around his neck, feeling the flutter of a pulse, finally coming to cup his face, his thumbs tracing small arcs on the sweat-slicked skin of his jaw.

“Sam! Sammy! Talk to me!”

Sam's eyes drift open. They are glassy and unfocused, but he blinks a few times and Dean watches recognition seep in.

“Dean?”

There's such awe in that single word that Dean feels something break inside him and the floodgates open. He crushes his brother to him, letting quiet tears soak into Sam's soft hair and rocking him back and forth in his arms.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy.”

It's the only word he remembers and he whispers it - a mantra - with his face pressed into his brother's shoulder. Sam's arms tighten around him, fingers digging into his back. He feels Sam shudder and realises he is sobbing too. The door bangs lightly shut and Dean knows Bobby has gone.

They stay clasped together until their quaking subsides and Dean raises his head, looking into Sam's red-rimmed eyes for a few moments, relief washing through him when he sees raw emotion there. He tries to say something glib to cover his embarrassment at having balled like a little girl but all that comes to his tongue is,

“Missed you.”

Sam's mouth tugs into the ghost of a smile.

“Dude, gross! You made my shoulder wet.”

Then he lowers his eyes and says softly,

“Why did you bring me back?”

Dean's brow furrows.

“What do you mean 'why'?”

“I remember, Dean.”

Dean's eyes go wide in alarm and he opens his mouth to speak but Sam cuts him off.

“Not everything. Not there. But here. I remember Cas warning you what could happen. I remember not wanting my soul back. I remember pleading with you not to put it back.”

Dean shifts his weight on the bed as guilt gnaws inside his belly. But he knows he'd do it all over again to have his Sam back like this.

“Yeah, well you weren't in your right mind.” He bites his lip, knowing Sam will see through that. He remembers Death's parting shot. “What do you actually remember about...the box?”

“Not much,” Sam says fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt. “It's like after Jess and Dad died. Some days you have that little window when you wake up, y'know, when you're sort of happy. You feel normal but not completely because you know there's something terrible just out of reach, waiting to be remembered.”

“OK, then don't push it, Sam.” Dean grabs his wrist. “Don't you try to remember. Just let it be.”

“I'll try,” Sam whispers. “But that doesn't make this part any easier. Knowing what's happened this past year. The things I've done. Knowing I've...let people die. I stood by and watch a vamp turn you for chrissakes. I screwed things up between you and Lisa. I would have _killed_ Bobby! I couldn't feel anyth-”

“Sam, don't!”

“And you know I'm on borrowed time. What happens when this 'wall' comes crashing down, Dean? What then?”

Dean puts his fingers over his brother's lips to stem the words he doesn't want to hear. Sam's eyes are brimming and a muscle tics in his jaw.

“Shhh. Sam, don't. Please. I'll figure it out.”

Sam presses his lips together and shakes his head sadly.

“Look, Sam. I know it's not perfect. I know that. But I couldn't...I just couldn't-” Dean's voice cracks as the tears threaten again. What he fuck is wrong with him? “You know we don't do well on our own. You know that, Sam. You can think I've been a selfish bastard, fine, but your soul was in the cage. You were suffering, man. Don't pretend you would have let go this time if our places were switched. Don't you do that. Not you.”

“But I was back.”

“No you weren't, Sam. Not you. Not really. You couldn't carry on like that - it was scary. Seeing you, talking with you, hunting with you, being with you 24-7. It was like having my brother back but you weren't in there.” Dean taps his fingers lightly on Sam's forehead. “You didn't...”

Dean stops and closes his eyes.

“Didn't what, Dean?” Sam presses.

Dean takes a deep breath and lets it out. Keeps his silence.

“I need to understand, Dean. Just say it. Whatever it is.”

Dean's eyes scan the room restlessly. He's grateful for Bobby's tactful retreat. He barely recognises the needy, weeping creature he's become. He knows he can tell himself he was acting in Sam's best interest but Sam's eyes are a mirror. They reflect his helplessness. He's seen this look before – Cas assessing him with Jimmy Novak's deep blue gaze and seeing the shameful truth.

He steels himself and steps off the edge.

“You didn't...love me. And I couldn't bear it. I'd rather you were dead.”

There are tears slipping down his cheeks when he finally looks up at Sam, his long lashes dark and spiked with moisture. The green of his irises is achingly bright. And suddenly Sam understands.

“I'm sorry,” Dean whispers.

“How long?” asks Sam in a voice that's barely there.

“Always,” his brother answers without hesitation.

The pieces are all falling into place. Sam can hardly believe he's never worked it out before. All those times they've sacrificed themselves rather than let their brother go. Every time they've pulled each other apart and rebuilt what's between them, redefining, strengthening. The shape of it changing slightly each time, warping, deforming like a bone fractured and healed.

Sam may have been the one missing a soul, but without his sibling, Dean was also a hollow thing. A shell of man, just as Sam had been for those six months while the Trickster taught him a lesson, and as he had been when Dean was in Hell and would have been forever had Cas not brought him back. All their talk is about _family_ but it's just a convenient lie because what's between them is more than blood. It's beyond anything they even really understand. They can't be whole if one is gone.

They say true love means letting go but Sam and Dean know different even if they don't realise it.

True love is _never_ being able to let go. True love is something which can't be broken by death or Heaven or Hell or the end of the world.

Dean shivers when he feels Sam's lips press his. At first it could be familial. He smells Sam – a scent he knows better than anything else and it's weird that it doesn't feel stranger. He nudges Sam's mouth open and tastes salt. Sam smells like the ocean and a bit like engine oil. He licks deeper into his brother's mouth. Tastes the faint heat of liquor. This is no longer brotherly and it can't be written off that way.

Sam moans then and Dean loses it. He snarls his fingers into his brother's hair and pushes him back on the bed, scrambling on top of him, chasing Sam's lips with his own. He feels Sam's huge hands all over him, pulling and pushing at his clothes. He helps by wriggling out of his jacket and shirt as best he can without breaking their kiss for too long. His own hands fumble with Sam's buttons. He's shaking so hard he can't see straight. His breath is coming in little pants like he can't get enough air. He's vaguely aware that Bobby could come back at any minute, but he's too far gone to care, chancing that the older hunter will wait for them to surface rather than intruding on their reunion.

“Dean?” Sam's voice is hoarse and uncertain. “You sure?”

Dean looks into his brother's slanted eyes, the lids a little puffy from crying.

“Yeah, Sammy. I'm sure.”

He crashes their lips together again, Sam's tongue sweeping softly around his own, making moist little sounds, shunting warm breath back and forth between their mouths and Dean's cock strains at his fly.

Dean slides his hands over every inch of bare skin he can find, his fingertips learning each contour because he's sure Sam's going to realise what's happening any second now and punch his lights out, and he'll be left with only these brief touch-memories to last him for the rest of his days.

But Sam isn't pushing him away. He's grabbing him and moulding him with strong fingers and plundering his mouth with his tongue. He's rolling his hips up against him so that Dean can feel the hard outline of his dick pressing into his hip through their jeans. If they're going back to Hell they are going together.

Sam is pulling at his belt mumbling,

“Off. Get your pants off.”

Dean scrambles to his knees, his fingers sluggish as he unfastens his belt and unbuttons his fly. Sam is already skinning off his jeans when he looks up, and the older Winchester does the same, kicking them off. Down to just his boxers and socks, he stops to look at his little brother spread out under him. Sam's beautiful. He has that quizzical look on his brow, like he can't believe this is happening, and his body is a golden expanse of skin over sculpted muscle. The sharp cut of his hips leads down to where his hard cock is tenting the fabric of his underwear and leaving a dark spot on the light blue material.Dean runs one finger lightly over the dusting of dark hair which leads from Sam's navel, to down below the waistband of his shorts.

Dean notices with satisfcation that Sam is trembling as hard as he is. Adrenaline is coursing through him and it's somehow more potent than the rush he gets from a hunt.

Sam is looking at him like he's the most precious thing in the world and the weight of that look makes Dean's eyes well with mortifying ease. He bends his head to nuzzle at the taut flesh of Sam's belly. He noses at his navel, and feels Sam's long fingers come to rest on his head, playing with the short hair. He remembers the feel of his brother's skin under his lips, the taste of it from when they were kids and he'd tickle Sammy into raptures with his mouth. It fucks with his head how similar and how different this is, and he tries not to question it too much, knowing all kinds of hitherto innocent memories will get messed up with what's to come. The Winchesters are re-writing their past.

Or maybe just unearthing a long-buried facet.

“You sure this is OK, Sammy?”

Dean's throat is constricted as he hooks his fingers in the top of his brother's shorts.

“Yeah,” Sam breathes. “Yeah, Dean. Do it.”

Dean pulls Sam's boxers down, freeing his engorged cock which slaps heavily against his tight stomach.

“Jesus, Sam,” Dean says with a hint of strange pride. “It's big.”

Sam huffs out a small laugh.

“Shh!” he whispers. “Thanks, but we _really_ don't want Bobby hearing this.”

Dean laughs quietly, feeling slightly hysterical, and his hot breath on the head of Sam's dick makes it bob and strain. Dean tentatively laps at the baby soft skin of the crown and tastes the salty, organic tang of Sam's fluid. It smells stronger to Dean than his own, maybe because he's hyper aware of every sense right now. Sam gasps a little, and bites at his lower lip, trying to stay quiet as Dean takes him into his mouth. It's easier than he thought and he gets it nice and wet, trying to suck firmly without scraping Sam with his teeth. He finds his rhythm and bobs his head enthusiastically as Sam balls his fists hard.

Dean's lips are soft and obscenely plump and Sam can't watch the way they drag wetly up and down his painfully hard length for too long because it's just too exquisite. The suction sounds they're making are too loud and obvious in the concrete bunker. He wants desperately to thrust up into that perfect, slick heat and to shout his pleasure at the top of his lungs, but instead he squirms and bucks in small movements and whimpers softly in his throat.

When they're hunting, Sam and Dean don't need words to get what's happening with the other. They know each other inside out. Can read intent on each other's face as if it were actually written there. And so it starts to be with this. Dean can feel that Sam is close and pulls off just before his fingers tug lightly at his hair.

Dean slides back up the bed, his body half on top of Sam's and they resume their languid exporation of each other's mouths. Dean feels Sam's massive hand on his ass, pushing his underwear down and he raises his hips to give him better access. Sam groans when his fingers find the hot, hard flesh of Dean's cock, and it jumps and leaks in his brother's grip at the sound. Then Dean starts as Sam's other hand snakes round, petting his backside before one deft finger dips down and circles his hole.

“Sam!” he hisses. “What're you-”

“Shhh, Sam sucks on Dean's tongue before bringing his finger up to their mouths and collecting some of his own spittle on the tip. “Trust me,” he murmurs. “Gonna feel good.”

Dean fights down the panic he feels rising and briefly wonders how Sam knows what it feels like having something shoved up your butt. Sure, he's had girls who wanted to get a little adventurous that way but he's always drawn the line at being penetrated. Maybe his little brother has different boundaries.

Sam's finger is there again and Sam is soothing him, telling him to relax before fucking his mouth with his tongue. Dean suddenly feels exposed and out of control.

“Sam, I don't know if-”

His hushed words die in his throat as Sam's long, tapered finger sinks into him up to the first knuckle, and he lets out a surprised moan.

“Shhh,” Sam breathes into his open mouth and slips his tongue inside as his finger presses in a little deeper.

Dean shifts his hips, trying to get accustomed to the alien sensation. Sam is gently but determinedly pushing in further and further, until Dean feels his hand snug up against his butt.

“That's all the way,” Sam whispers. His eyes are totally blown now, kinky sonofabitch. “How does it feel?”

“It feels like you've wedged your finger up my ass, dude!” Dean's voice is muted but tinged with outrage. But then Sam crooks his finger and Dean feels pleasure, low and dirty, flare in his belly.

“Oh, God.” he whimpers as Sam smiles against his neck. He rocks back onto Sam's hand, trying to find that spot again and then rubs his swollen cock against Sam's tacky hip. Before he realises it, the weird, stretched discomfort is gone, and Dean Winchester is pressing his plush lips togethers as he tries to keep from crying out while he fucks himself on his brother's finger and rubs himself off against his warm thigh.

Sam rolls over slightly so they are both lying on the narrow bed, facing each other.

“Like that?” he asks softly and Dean can only nod, his mouth slack. “Do me,” Sam urges. “Put your finger up my ass.”

Dean is beyond speech now, and most of his faculties are preoccupied with trying not to shout or come. But he scoots in even closer to Sam so that their dicks are touching and sucks on his index fingers before reaching behind Sam and probing gently at his opening.

“Mmm...yes!” Sam says close in his ear, sending cold little thrills down Dean's spine. “Put it in. Fuck me.”

Dean slowly pushes his finger in to the hilt, marvelling at the clasping heat gripping his finger, at his brother's filthy mouth.

“So good,” Sam pants into his mouth as he grinds his hard-on against Dean's. “I'm so close, Dean.”

“Me too,” Dean exhales on a moan. He thrusts harder against Sam, impaling himself on his finger with increasing urgency as he slips his own finger wetly in and out of Sam's hole.

“Gonna come, Sam. Gonna come,” he moans against Sam's mouth, and then he feels hot spurts between their stomachs as Sam shoots first, making his own last strokes warm and slippery. He gets off harder than he can ever remember doing before, biting down on Sam's shoulder to stop from crying out, his come pulsing between them and mingling with Sam's. Sam milks him dry, stroking that spot inside him until he thinks he might black out.

When the aftershocks subside, he gently pulls his finger out of Sam, feeling slightly empty and bereft when his brother slides out of him. They kiss sloppily for a while longer before Dean realises they have ruined Bobby's sheets and the windowless room reeks of their seed.

“Shit!” he says, “Bobby's gonna know something's up.”

“It's OK,” Sam says gently, wiping himself off with the sheet and picking up his underwear. “You go and distract him and I'll strip the bed. Say I sweated and bled through my shirt.”

Dean nods, afraid to meet Sam's eyes.

“Then we'll make our excuses. Say we're both exhausted and need showers and a lie down.”

“Right,” agrees Dean.

“Then I'll suck you off and let you put _two_ fingers in me.”

Dean's eyes snap up to find Sam grinning wickedly at him. He can't help but smile as his dick tries valiantly to twitch back to life.

“This is beyond fucked up...but welcome home, Sammy.”

Sam leans over and kisses him tenderly on the mouth.

“You did the right thing, Dean.” he says so quietly that Dean has to watch his mouth move to be sure he's not imagining it. “I know it now. My soul should be wherever yours is. Always.”

Dean Winchester doesn't think there is anything more true - in this world, in Heaven, or in Hell.

 

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.sinful-desire.org/archive/viewstory.php?sid=3881>


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